


Workarounds

by KittyViolet



Category: Excalibur (Comic), New Mutants (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/F, Greece, Long-Distance Relationship, Puns & Word Play, Vacation, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyViolet/pseuds/KittyViolet
Summary: Illyana sits on the edge of the bed, scrutinizing first one, then another toy."No, I have a workaround. Wait here."
Relationships: Kitty Pryde/Illyana Rasputin, Kitty Pryde/Illyana Rasputin/Rachel Summers, Xi'an Coy Manh/Ava'Dara Nanganandini
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Workarounds

“Therapods,” Rachel Grey-Summers says. “The local name for these sorts of monsters. Greek for beast-foot, because their feet smell so bad. It’s better to fight them at a distance.” Then Rachel uses her telekinesis to drop a boulder on one twenty feet away, where the Aegean meets the smooth beach. The therapod pops like a pale green balloon.

Illyana wrinkles her nose. “How did they get here? Aren’t this particular sort a Savage Land thing? That’s how you know about them, right? From when you lived there?”

“I wouldn’t call that living,” Rachel replies. At the time she was part dinosaur, and she came back to find Kitty with Piotr: it wasn’t a great time in her adult life. Especially not because the whole poly triad thing was completely alien to her, back then. How much has changed.

Rachel drops another boulder on another three-footed green scaly attacker, ducks as the goo flies, and turns back to face their adversaries. “I think somebody went on an expedition to Antarctica and there must have been therapod pods there. Then that person took a trip to Greece. It’s easy to miss them if you’re not looking. They’re, like, eyeball-sized when they’re young.”

“Eye-pods. Got it.” Illyana slices a flying one in half with a regular old steel sword, since the soulsword won’t work on things without souls or magic, except on Tuesdays. Never travel without a sword if you can avoid it: one of her Sword Lesbian mottos. Under her bangs, she rolls her eyes. “Are we on vacation yet?”

“Say ‘on holiday’ or we’ll sound like ugly Americans,” Rachel warns.

“I’m not American,” Illyana responds. “But also I’m not British and I refuse to talk like I am. I think that’s the last of them. I think we got them before they reached the humans at the café.” 

The sea before the pair of mutants, just arrived from Krakoa, is quiet. Behind them, white curtains nearly touch the back of Rachel’s shoulder, over her black and yellow windbreaker—it’s a cold day, too cold to swim but fine for watching the sea, unless there are therapods erupting. 

A set of red paving stones separated by pale sand leads down a gentle hill to a set of cafes with wrought iron tables and chairs and only the kitchen indoors: Xi’an and Ava'Dara sit in the highest one, Xi’an with a tumbler of ouzo and a skewer of lamb and grape leaves, Ava'Dara with her sketchbook. When Xi’an sees who’s watching, she nods to Ava'Dara, who puts down the sketchbook to give her girlfriend a smooch. Downhill, the topless lesbians from Europe, oblivious, happy, keep playing volleyball.

Illyana turns to go back into the hotel, then turns back around to see Rachel’s expression.

“Why don’t you just go and get her? You know she’d want to be here,” Rachel says.

Illyana looks down at her sandals—strappy things that extend halfway up the calf, a compromise between her no-compromise boots and thin leather beachwear—and then up to meet Rachel’s hazel eyes. Illyana tries to take Rachel’s hand but ends in a grim smile. “I can’t.”

Rachel levitates a handful of silverware, holding it in front of Illyana’s face. The Russian mutant blinks. “No, I mean I literally can’t.”

Rachel looks shocked. “Why the fork not? I mean, we picked this vacation spot with the five of us in mind.”

Illyana takes the metal fork from Rachel, breaks it in half, and then utters a mending spell to rejoin it. “That looks satisfying,” Rachel says.

“It is. But I’m not satisfied. I can’t teleport right now.”

Rachel’s eyes open so wide Illyana can almost see the faint shadow of the Phoenix in her friend’s pupils. “I repeat, why the fork not?”

“Remember when we were fighting the Junior Hellfire Club last week?”

“Yes. Jerks. What happened?”

“Wilhelmina Kensington and Max von Frankenstein had been living with toxic mold, probably because they never clean their rooms. Kids today. Anyway when we captured them and I took them to law enforcement quarantine via Limbo the toxic mold spread from their clothes all over my realm. Nobody goes to Limbo and nothing leaves Limbo till they clean and disinfect the entire dimension.”

“Aren’t there spells for that?”

“You can ask Dr. Strange. The one I tried will give anybody I touch a contagious rash. It does clean Limbo, though.”

“I’d rather wait for S’ym to finish spraying 20,000 tons of magical Lysol.”

“Me too.” Illyana shakes her head. She’s naturally impatient, but some things take time.

“So you can’t teleport for now. So Kate has to stay in space and might not even know we got this place to hang out with her.”

“Not just hang out,” Illyana smirks. There’s a bag by the door full of toys and they haven’t even opened it yet. There’s a king-sized bed in their room. Xi’an and Warbird—who might be at the café for hours; who knows?-- are staying next door. The distant Europeans make volleyball sounds.

Illyana sits on the edge of the bed, scrutinizing first one, then another toy.

“Maybe we can get her in telepathic contact? That was fun before,” says Rachel. "More than fun."

“No. I have a workaround. Wait here.” And Illyana sets off down the red stones, towards the café. her sandals clicking, her back straight and confident, her straighter-than-anything blond hair (the only straight thing about her, Rachel thinks) flowing slightly in the sea breeze as the last of the therapods’ foul scent gives way to salt and thyme and oregano.

When Illyana comes back with kebabs, an hour later, Rachel doesn’t ask. She’s just going to wait to see how the plan unfolds.

After sundown the two of them burrow under the pale, soft blankets together without doing much more than snuggle and peck each other on the lips. It’s as if there were a shadow, a third party, insubstantial and absent, between them. A shadow in the shape of a friendly cat.

*

The morning goes better. There’s Greek coffee, and Russian tea, and a decidedly un-Russian toy to share, a slim thing that changes shape and texture with the wearer: because they picked it up when they landed in Greece (there’s a Krakoa gateway in the Peloponnese) Rachel calls it Aphrodite, which prompts Illyana-- when they’re all done and throwing their fluffy robes around each other—to start reciting “Immortal Aphrodite of the shimmering throne…” on the grounds that the toy deserves a hymn. Rachel doesn’t get it, which is OK.

Xi’an does, though. “’If she flees now, she will quickly follow,’ right?” the New Mutants’ onetime leader says, after knocking on the partway-open door. Illyana wonders if Xi’an is thinking about the beach, and the waves, and the rock face, not so far from here, where the teenage New Mutants frolicked and trained just before they got yanked off to Asgard. After which nothing would ever be the same. 

Kate never got here-- she wasn’t a New Mutant…. Kate’s never seen Greece. Nor has Rachel. Not the islands emerging from the bluest possible sea, not the half-ruined temples, not the cafes... That’s one reason Illyana planned to take them both here. But then Kate had to go do Red Queen business with an extraterrestrial drug supplier somewhere in Shi’ar space… 

“I would like to see the statues of Praxiteles,” says Ava'Dara Nanganandini, the artist formerly known as Warbird, moving into view behind her girlfriend. “May we fly to Athens three days from now, as we had planned?” And she squeezes Xi’an’s hand, pinfeathers fluttering. She’s so awkward, Illyana thinks. As awkward as Kate once was. But more dangerous. Warier.

“If this workaround works that can be your reward,” Illyana says. Then the music starts: somebody with a booming alto voice and a propensity to power chords has set up in the café and she’s playing a solo lunchtime set and she’s good. Very good. International star level good.

Illyana and Rachel race down the red stone path as Kate runs towards them, phasing at the last moment so she doesn’t bowl her partners over on her way back to them. A few seconds later Kate’s in the hotel room, looking around, taking off her space helmet, her space containment suit, and under it her thin red coat. Illyana and Rachel stay on the path looking first uphill to the hotel, the curtains, the sun, Kate Pryde herself, winded, smiling, and then down to the cafes and the concert, where a black-haired woman in black jeans finishes her ballad with a flourish, waves, and then disappears.

“How did you do that?” Rachel asks.

“I asked Warbird to get a message through Shi’ar elite communication channels, which could then reach Sam, who could contact Lila, who-- if she happened to know the right planet, which she did-- could go get Kate and bring her home.”

Rachel pecks Illyana again and then approaches Kate and almost falls into her arms. Illyana then comes in to hold them both and lead them to the king bed. There’s still a slim two-stemmed device on it, along with a battery pack and one more fluffy robe.

“I wanted so much to show you Greece,” says Illyana. “And to show you Greece,” she continues.

Rachel looks like if she were any happier she’d melt. Happiness has been rare, for her, and she’ll seize it. “This is Aphrodite,” she tells Kate, picking up the device. “But her pronouns are he and him.”

“Not him, hymn,” Illyana says. “Hmmmmm.”

Then Kitty says “Interstellar teleportation is exhausting. But life is exhausting. So far I like Greece.” She touches Rachel's gown-- Greek-themed, come to think of it: really a peplum, with a square-wave-shaped hem. Kate's hand brushes Rachel's thigh. Then Kate falls back on the bed between them both, her eyes closed, smiling, as Rachel bends over her, and Aphrodite begins to hum.


End file.
